Talk:The random post-y page/@comment-99.244.161.132-20120520133723
The sky is growing dark, the cats of Starclan painting it a pale violet. Hints of orange can be seen among the hazy purple clouds. The sun is bright red in the dying light. But he does not have time to bask in its splendor. He can't take time for such novelties as pleasure. Other wise, he would be just like them. He sneers in the direction of a nearby Two-Leg nest. In the yard, a fluffy white cat was curled up in the lap of a Two-leg she-kit. They, one the other hand, were watching the sun sink below the horizon. He hissed in disapproval, and walked on. His hind leg dragged along behind him. He winced with every step. The cat was in agony. But it was either this or starvation. He had already eaten the leftovers, sparingly mind you, lying in the trash cans that dotted his home. But he was out. The monster who stole his precious garbage bins had arrived recently. He was out of food. He panted, catching his breath. In better circumstances, he would have scolded himself for being so dog-like, so uncouth. But the circumstances were not so, and he didn't care what he looked like. He needed food. He continued crawling along, his limp growing worse with every stride. Don't push yourself. You'll be fine. You just need to rest your leg. Your stomach doesn't matter. It's all in your head, your just being too gluttoness chided a little voice in his head. He wished he ciuld agree with it, but he couldn't. His hunger was overwhelming. Food was what ruined his leg. He took a short trip back in time, reliving that night. There had been a full roasted chicken on the window-sill, just cooling. His mouth was watering. It had been a day just like today, where his stomach ached for somehing to eat. Before he knew it, he was running with the chicken in his mouth. A two-leg with long whiskers was chasing his. Something mtal was slapping the ar behind him, the place where he had just been. Quite literally, the man had been right on his tail. He was going to make a jump for it. There was a window he could leap through, into an abandoned building. and he'd be safe there, free to eat his chicken in peace. His legs left the ground, but only three made it to the window-sill. His fourth had caught its claws in the lace drapes. He wriggled to get out. And then there was a sickening crack. His leg hurt just remembering that night. Yet he pressed on. He would not repeat this mistake again. He would get his food. He could smell it in the distances. After walking a few fox-lengths more, he came to the source of of the smell. It was behind a chain-link fence. He sighed. He wasn't very good at climbing. But he'd have to. So much for not repeating the same mistake. He lifted one paw, then the other and began to clamber awkwardly over the fence. He made it over without too much trouble, and was nearing the food. There was a fresh mouse nearby. It was scamperibng through the grass, its scent burning in his nose. It didn't see him until it was too late. It hung limply from, is mouth. He was just about to take a bitewhen a female mew interrupted him. There was a grey she-kit behind him. How had he not noticed her approach? "Excuse me." she mewed, politely but with an undertone of annoyance. "That's my kill."